Sunday, April 5, 2009


this weekend was a world of it's own.  
friday housewarming party for a fun couple (beautiful house!) and stayed up way too late drinking really good beer. basically i took a nap before going to work at the wedge saturday morning. 
saturday i saw heartless bastards (the band) and it was an effing great show.  what a sexy rockin' band.
now it's sunday night and i'm sitting on the couch with my nephews pretending to watch them play x-box.  although joe is onto me.  he just said, "tina, always watch us.  don't look at the computer."  this afternoon the whole fam (and then some) went to the local community theater here in scf and saw the wizard of oz.  it was adorable, although i had a hard time staying awake since i hung out too late last night with my downstairs neighbors who i ran into at the concert. they gave me wine and fed me pad thai, so it was hard leaving, even though it felt very uncomfortable and white.  i've never felt so white in my life.  not even when i'm pasty after a long winter and listening to fiona apple.  they were showing off how many languages they could speak (in an annoying, not admirable, fashion), criticizing the band we'd just seen ("they only use three chords in this song") and talking about how many countries they'd visited and which orchestras they'd played in (but none of them knew who nina simone was) and the one guy played some song on the guitar about taking his hamster for a walk.  i think he honestly thought it was funny, in some garrison kiellor dorked out way that wasn't funny at all but made me want to vomit.  and the worst part was that i think he was trying to hit on me a little, which was totally gross and horrifying.  now that i'm twentyfive is it really acceptable for that sort of person to hit on me?  it was a scary realization.  
anyway tomorrow's monday and the weekend's over, but i have this poem to help me with the shock that monday morning always is:

Every morning 
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches --
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy 
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination 
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit carries within it

the thorn 
that is heavier than lead--
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging--

there is still 
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted--

each pond with it's blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.

Morning Poem by Mary OIiver.

1 comment:

  1. this is a funny post and also makes me miss you!